


Verdissimo

by midoritakamine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Historical Hetalia, It's hardly historical the events take place in the 2000s but fuck you, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9527576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midoritakamine/pseuds/midoritakamine
Summary: Romano thanks Estonia twice. Estonia doesn't know why he's being thanked twice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I wasn't gonna find some kind of historical event(s) for my stupid rarepair then you are sadly mistaken. See end notes for the (stupid ass modern day this isn't even historical-historical) historical references. Feel free to correct any misinformation. I admit I did not study that hard and I just wanted historical-esque Estmano

It takes but ten minutes for Romano to lose Veneziano in the crowd.

He’s not surprised; in fact, he predicted this in the days leading up to this concert. Veneziano never has been the best at keeping himself controlled and in one place. Even during formal events, his excitement was the target of Austria’s complaints when the two were but toddlers. Spain never chastised Romano much, but that’s more to do with him being so much weaker-willed as a parental figure than his ex-husband. More often than not during formal Habsburg meetings, the two Italy brothers would get into trouble that resulted in stern reprimands from Austria and gentler pleads from Spain to behave themselves, sounding more like suggestions than orders.

Despite his dislike for either of his former guardians’ scoldings, Romano does wish they were present now. Perhaps one of them could have kept Veneziano corralled at least until the end of the show, instead of leaving Romano by himself amongst a bunch of moderately famous Baltic opera music stars.

Romano swirls the wine in his glass around. His eyes scan boredly over the crowd around him, hardly understanding the thick accented English of the people around him. If the decision had fallen to him (which it never does because  _ Veneziano is the  _ real  _ Italy so any decisions about the country and what they’re to do go to  _ Veneziano  _ and not the washed up older one _ ), he would have preferred not to attend. He still prefers it; the wine is mediocre, the crowd a buzzing mess of headache-inducing noise, and his only sense of solidarity is probably halfway to drunk and flirting with some pretty opera singer.

Bitterly he takes a sip of the wine and groans at the bland taste. Isn’t this guy’s alcohol supposed to be  _ good _ ? Isn’t that why the one too-cheery Nordic always come over here to buy it? He sets the glass down on the table he’s leaned against, eyes falling on a pretty young lady a few feet away. Her semi-wavy blonde hair stops just at her shoulders, the deep blue of her dress standing out against her pale complexion. She seems to be in a friendly conversation with a few other attendees, a polite smile and laugh occasionally coming from her. She’s one of the performers from the show; her performance of  _ Ritorna vincitor _ still echoing in Romano’s head. She did very well on the piece and he can’t help but smile lightly. Even if the evening is soured by his brother abandoning him to the crowd of strangers, a pretty girl is always a surefire cheer up for him.

As soon as he feels enough confidence to approach her and compliment her performance, he hears his human name called. Very few individuals at this party would know that, and of the ones he can think of to be here the only ones he cannot immediately place in his line of sight are his brother and the hosting nation. Given its pronunciation is horrible, he crosses off his brother and, as he turns around, he finds he’s predicted correctly who exactly called for him.

Romano resists the urge to roll his eyes, cursing silently at his lost chance to engage the pretty woman, instead putting on a neutral expression. He removes a hand from his pocket to shake the one extended to him. “Hello, Eduard.”

The Baltic nation returns his greeting and releases his hand. “I’m quite surprised to see you accompanied Feliciano to the event, Lovino.” The smile on his face appears friendly enough, but paranoia has always served Romano well so he takes it with caution. Estonia doesn’t look phased, but then again it’s always hard to read the guy. His relations with most all countries remain amicable on the surface, but behind his lenses sits a calculating nation knowledgeable in rebellion, war and technologic advances. Even if the country fell in the past to what Romano simplified as  _ being Russia’s bitch _ , he still upholds an air of hesitance around him.

Never trust the nice ones is how it goes.

“I didn’t want to come,” admits Romano. “The wine is cheap, my brother left me alone the second he spotted some pretty thing, and you haven’t a damn edible snack in sight that isn’t bread. I’m all for bread, but you have way too much here.”

All he gets in reply is an enigmatic smile and a shrug. A few more moments pass before Estonia speaks. “I would have preferred to set out the better vodka, but I personally just got my stash bought out.” He shakes his head, fingers pulling at his bangs. “As dear a friend he is, Tino doesn’t know how to share.”

_ Oh, so it’s Finland _ , Romano thinks.

“I do hope the lack of alcohol is not impeding your enjoyment of the evening though,” continues Estonia. He releases his bangs and sends Romano a sidelong glance. “I aimed to make this evening enjoyable for both our countries’ citizens,” in a hushed whisper only Romano is close enough to hear, he adds, “ _ and _ said countries’ representatives. I wouldn’t wish to make a bad impression on you, friend.”

Friend? Romano squints. He certainly does not know the Baltic country enough to consider him a friend. Veneziano might, as he handles most positive foreign relations and leaves the ‘scary’ relations to Romano. But as for the southern Italian? As far as he’s concerned, he has no friends. Except perhaps Belgium. And maybe Spain. His lips twist at the thought of his former father figure and he blows air out his nose. If Spain’s a friend, he certainly has miles to go, the first step being something like  _ not _ ruling him for some odd hundreds of years. Really made development and gaining wealth hard in the long run.

They stand in an awkward silence, Estonia drinking his own glass of wine and Romano watching the party guests. Eventually, the latter speaks up.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

Estonia looks at him curiously. “For what?”

Romano groans and shoots him a dirty stare. “Are you really gonna make me say it? You know exactly what I’m thankin’ you for, so accept it so I can stop havin’ the feeling of you riding my ass for it.”

“As interesting a concept that may be,” the comment makes Romano furrow his brows, but Estonia keeps talking as if he doesn’t see, “I’m not entirely sure what thanks you believe I’m riding your ass for.”

“The concert!” Romano snaps. His loud exclamation has a few guests glance at them, so he forces himself to lower his voice lest they remain in the spotlight. “This whole thing, for Verdi? It was nice, the performances were good. As much as I didn’t wanna come, it was enjoyable. Now, at this afterparty?” Romano rolls his eyes and gestures vaguely to the crowd of strangers. “Not fun at all given I know about three people here, you and my brother making up two of those. And I can’t find Feliciano.”

“He was at the bar last I glimpsed him,” supplies Estonia. He swirls the wine in a similar manner to Romano earlier. “Was talking to Zaitseva last I saw. She seemed smitten. I saw you earlier, also,” he looks at Romano evenly. “Asszonyi would have enjoyed your company, I believe. She’s quite friendly.”

Now with a name to apply to the pretty blonde’s face, Romano looks at her again. Asszonyi’s further away, too far for him to casually approach and he laments his lost opportunity to talk to her. Instead, he looks back to his fellow nation. “Why’d you get in the way then, asshole?”

Estonia smiles sweetly. “I believed I’d enjoy your company more than she would.”

* * *

 

Romano never did expect somebody as put together and by the book-looking as Estonia would dare dodge out of such an event. Yet here they are, on the steps to the nation’s house, freshly bought vodka in hand and the lights leading up to the front porch the only source of illumination. The sky is clouded over much like Romano’s eyes are, and his lips are spread into an uncharacteristic smile. Something genuine-looking and soft. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled this way around a stranger.

He downs a small shot of vodka and shudders at the burn in his throat. His eyes glance to his right at his blonde companion, who looks to be still completely sober despite his bottle being half empty. After the events that led them to these steps, perhaps he could stop considering Estonia a stranger. He’s a fellow nation, a bit of a smartass with a quick wit, and the alcohol in his body certainly isn’t helping Romano keep the  _ completely objective  _ thoughts of how nice he looks disheveled and flushed in the face at bay.

Abruptly, Romano tilts the bottle up and downs what he can only estimate as three shots. As non-human beings, their bodies didn’t react to alcohol at the same capacity as regular humans; if an average human gets drunk at five shots of vodka, a nation gets drunk at ten. That’s probably why Estonia looks so composed still as he talks about various cultural happenings of his country, of how thankful he is for the Italy brothers’ country’s foreign exchange program that allows his own residents opportunities to study abroad. Romano, buzzed enough to let his guard down, returns the chatter with a friendly lilt in hopes the conversations will distract him from the burn in his stomach that most certainly can’t be the alcohol.

“Y’know, Estonia,” they’re perched far enough away from the road at the end of the blonde’s driveway for the two to revert back to their official titles, “I don’t think me or Veneziano ever thanked you for that thin’ back four years ago.”

Estonia raises a brow, the rim of the bottle stopping at his lips. Romano curses mentally when his eyes drift down and notice it. “Hm? What exactly happened four year ago that you feel the need to thank me for now?”

As much as he wants to chide the Baltic nation for playing this same card again, Romano holds his tongue and instead says, “That earthquake that happened in April of 2009? You remember? Lotsa me an’ Veneziano’s monuments an’ historical buildings got damaged. Then later in September, Paet and Frattini got together - you remember that, I swear you was there. I wasn’t ‘cause Veneziano always gets t’go to those things - an’ they signed that thing, and you helped us rebuild. That.”

“Yes, I remember,” replies Estonia. He takes another drink. “What about it?”

“I wanted to thank ya personally,” Romano says. He raises his bottle of vodka and half-grins, gesturing for a toast of sorts. “You an’ your citizens did a lot for us even though us two, well three if Veneziano counts here but he’s close ta everybody, us three countries don’t personally have much’a relationship as I do with… say, Spain or you got with your other Baltics.” His eyes scan the cloudy sky and he shrugs, vodka bottle still raised in the air. Eventually he locks eyes with Estonia. “So, uh… thank ya, for helpin’ us rebuild our country after all that. I know it was technically Paet but he ain’t here and I ain’t got no relationship with him.”

Between the beginning mixtures of a drunken haze and Estonia’s own carefully concealed emotions, Romano has no idea what his companion is thinking when his eyes settle upon him. He appears thoughtful, examining the Italian up and down in a sweeping gaze as the bottle of vodka hangs from his hand. He smiles eventually, raising the bottle and tapping it against Romano’s before saying, “I never knew you were this forward.”

Romano scoffs. “I’m always forward, just never really get a chance t’show it off ‘cause Veneziano always goes out an’ shows off. I’m usually at home, or in Sicily handlin’ the locals. Sometimes the nasty ones, but thas’a job for the hidden member of Italy, the one nobody notices.” He takes another drink before continuing. “If anythin’, with your desires to hang out with them Scandinavians, you should understan’ what I mean by this.”

For a second Romano wonders if he said something he shouldn’t have. Estonia keeps up the smile, but his head tilts to an angle where the lights illuminating the walkway reflect off his glasses and mask his eyes, and the hand holding his drink tightens ever so slightly. He shrugs.

“I guess.”

“What, don’t you wanna-?”

“I do,” interrupts Estonia. “Believe me, I do. As good of company Lithuania and Latvia are, I don’t feel a particular kinship to them as you so inferred earlier.” A mild sense of regret at his misinterpretation of his new friend stings Romano. “Mm, and if I’m honest I only want to realign myself with the Nordics because we share so much history, or at least they all stuck their history in my business.” Now the man is grinning, and Romano raises a brow in curiosity. “Thought for sure after Denmark tossed me to the Teutonic Knights, they’d of left me alone. Pfft, for a group that doesn’t seem to want me, they sure did involve themselves in my land, development, history, economy… didja know that Iceland - the small one, hot-headed like you? - he was the first of all the countries to re-recognize my independence when I demanded it of the Soviets? His brother never did though; think it has somethin’ to do with me kidnapping and selling his prince back in the days.

“Anyway, I’m going on a whole spiel,” Estonia cuts himself off and looks back to Romano. “I guess to go back to your point, yeah. I do understand what you mean when you say you don’t feel noticed, or like you belong where you are. Though, if I can say something?”

Romano tilts his head, his shoulder brushing against Estonia’s ( _ When did we get this close _ ? He wonders. He can’t bring himself to care; Estonia smells nice, like a mixture of freshly brewed alcohol and mahogany and something vaguely cinnamon-y. He wants to bury his nose into his shirt and inhale).

“Shoot,” Romano says instead.

Estonia catches him by surprise when he scoots closer, theirs sides pressed completely together now. Up this close, Romano can actually read in Estonia’s eyes a sense of newfound companionship and warmth and his body tingles because he knows his own eyes are a mirror.

“I always noticed you more.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- On September 25th, 2013, the Estonian National Opera Chorus and Orchestra performed pieces by Italian opera music legend Giuseppe Verdi to celebrate his 200th birthday. The performance took place at the Estonia National Opera in Tallinn  
> \- Asszonyi refers to Aile Asszonyi, an Estonian opera singer who performed at the concert  
> \- Zaitseva refers to Olga Zaitseva , a Russian biathlete who performed in "Don Carlo" alongside Georgian opera singer Stella Grigorian  
> \- On April 6th, 2009, an earthquake hit Italy and damaged many culturally and architecturally important monuments in the country. In September of that year, Estonian Foreign Minister Urmas Paet and Italian Foreign Minister Franco Frattini met and discussed Estonian-Italian collaborations to help restore the damaged monuments  
> \- Paet remarked of the meeting, “Italy did not require aid for rescue work immediately after the incident, but they did request for European Union member states to help by working together to restore the monuments... We want to answer the Italian government’s request and make our contribution to rebuilding the city.”  
> \- The kidnapping and selling into slavery of a Norwegian prince named Sigurd Eirikson was done by Estonian Oeselians (vikings) in the year 967. Six years later, Eirikson spotted eventual King of Norway Olaf Tryggvason in a market and paid for his freedom.  
> \- Iceland was the first country to re-recognize Estonia as an independent nation (August 22nd, 1991) after a failed coup by Soviets. As for the other Nordics, they recognized Estonia in this order: Denmark (August 24th, 1991), Sweden (August 27th, 1991), and Finland (August 29th, 1991). Norway never re-recognized Estonia's independence  
> \- Italy re-recognized Estonia's independence on August 27th, 1991


End file.
